


Constellation

by outofminutes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5630410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofminutes/pseuds/outofminutes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot in the relationship between Dean and Cas, the things they know about each other, keep from each other and what makes them work. Has to do with Dean's freckles and how they made a home for each other. I suck at summaries so there you go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constellation

**Author's Note:**

> This fluffy thing came to me. I don't do fluff. I rated it Teen due to langauge and talk of sexual things. Un-betaed.

Constellation

Cas smiled softly to himself as he slid on a pair of ragged sweat pants and rounded the end of the bed. He loved to look at Dean when the other man was like this. So deeply relaxed, so well pleasured that he slipped into a restorative sleep. Knowing all of Dean’s history, the sleep he had gotten since he was four was necessary sleep, but not exactly restful or restorative. 

Dean didn’t relax this deeply around anyone but Cas. And it had taken a very long time, years in fact, before Dean allowed himself to truly let go with Cas. For hunters, sleep was equal to vulnerability. Well aware of that, Cas had been patient with Dean. Even sleeping in the same bed at first had been a challenge for Dean since every movement not his own could mean danger.

But, here and now, Dean slept deeply. Face completely relaxed, those plush lips still stained red from kissing. Though, Cas had to admit, there had been a lot of nibbling mixed with their kisses that contributed to that lovely shade of rosy red.

Dean was laid out on his stomach on the bed, left arm hanging down to the floor. The sheet was barely pulled up to his hips and only haphazardly covered the round globes of his ass. With one finger, Cas reached out and lightly traced a line down his lover’s back. He was rewarded with a half snuffle that shifted into a contented sigh.

If often amused him just how hedonistic God’s Righteous Man really was. As Dean had told him when they were fighting Famine, if he wanted a drink or sex or a fight, he just went out and found it. Growing up expecting a short life, Dean simply indulged in the thing that brought him the most pleasure at that time. Whether it was sex, burgers, hustling pool, guzzling whiskey or chasing pie. 

Cas was aware that Dean had a lot of sex in his youth. A young, handsome man with a face like that attracted attention no matter where he went. Sex had come easy to Dean. He used it often, like a weapon. Another tool in his arsenal to keep the harsh reality of a hunter’s world at bay. Using his innate charm along with that irresistible face garnered him a fair share of bedpost notches. When those thoughts gave him a little flare of jealousy, Cas reminded himself that Dean never slept in the bed with any of them beyond the act of sex. He imitated intimacy with his partners, did truly enjoy bringing them pleasure, but he never stayed, never made promises.

Dean slept better if he was in the same bed with Cas now, no matter where that bed was. Usually in their home, in their king sized memory foam bed, but sometimes in a tent or on the floor. And even, still, occasionally, in the Impala, though they were both really getting too old for that.

The sun slid through the window and dappled Dean’s freckled back in golden light. His eyes caressed that expanse of beautiful flesh, painted so perfectly in freckles. Pale freckles he had to squint at to see and darker ones he could see from across the room. Dean didn’t know it and Castiel would never tell him, but those freckles formed a pattern. But not some silly connect-the-dots pattern that outlined a horse or a building. 

No, those freckles were more than that. They formed a pattern of constellations. These constellations weren’t found in any sky or on any map made of the heavens by astronomers. Dean’s constellations were his alone, a gift for God’s Righteous Man. Just like angels could sense the ferocity of Dean’s soul from afar, so too the constellations were a map for those such angels to save him. 

Because he had managed to reach Dean in Hell first, to reach that tattered soul and repair it, Castiel was then etched into the constellations on Dean’s back. When he touched Dean, when he made that first sizzling contact in Hell, he became the only angel, and perhaps the only being alive, able to fully read the map of Dean’s back. 

Dean didn’t like being God’s pawn and wouldn't like the fact that God had marked him in so pretty a way. If Dean knew of his constellations, he would want to scrub them off, to burn them away. So Cas kept that knowledge to himself, so that he could always touch them with his eyes, and sometimes caress them with his fingers. His own personal North Star.

Shaking his head as his own fanciful thoughts, Cas lowered himself down against the wall a few feet away from Dean’s side of the bed. It was no secret that he loved to watch Dean, asleep or awake. Their friends and family still found it amusing even after their years together. It was one of the last of his non-human behaviors that he just couldn’t quite get rid of. Maybe because he didn’t want to. 

Dean would never fail to capture his attention. Not because of his physical beauty, though there was no doubt about that, but because of his soul. Castiel had touched it, a rare phenomenon for any angel. Then he had used some of his own grace to hold the man together as he brought him forth from the Pit.

Dean’s soul was beautiful. When he first saw it, Castiel had thought it was tarnished somehow. Most of the souls he saw were like bright lights, almost so white they were blue at the edges. Dean’s had not been that bright. So, as he brought him out of hell, Castiel had tried to remove the tarnish, the taint, whatever it was that had dimmed the bright glow. He thought that the torture in Hell might have caused the damage.

What he came to realize was that Dean’s soul was exactly as it should be. Other souls shone cooly white, a glow you almost had to squint at. Dean’s soul was a softer, warmer light that reminded him of the gas lamps that commonly lit the streets in the 1880s. Very few of those lamps were still in use but he went to visit the cities that had them still as often as he could; Boston, Berlin and London the best options. 

Put Dean’s soul in a room with a thousand others, with hundreds of thousands of others, and he would still stand apart. Something that many people would appreciate, find honor in even, but not Dean. So Cas kept that from him as well. 

Earlier in their relationship, after one apparently epic staring session that Castiel had been unaware of, Sam asked him what he saw when he looked at Dean like that. Sincere curiosity shone in Sam’s eyes, as did a hint of amusement. This had been several years ago when he and Dean had first become a couple and Castiel still had most of his stiff, angel-like responses. So he had looked back at Dean and told Sam the truth. Home. When he looked at Dean like that, he saw Home. 

Sam, while he looked at Cas with amusement after catching him staring at Dean again, now also looked at him with a depth of affection that shone through the mirth. Admittedly, Cas tried to stare at Dean less when there was company around but wasn’t always successful. 

The dark maroon of their bed sheets was the perfect backdrop for the golden hue of Dean’s body. Dean had wanted blue sheets, Cas green, so they had compromised with a set of maroon and a set of grey. Struggling for a comforter they could agree on, Sam had come to their rescue, finding a cotton quilt in the same shades of maroon and grey, with a hint of mustard to add depth. 

Finding this a common ground, they had continued the color scheme into the living room, painting the walls a muted mustard, the couches covered in grey and maroon accents with pillows, rugs and throw blankets. 

They had settled into a small, quiet neighborhood with older houses. A fifteen hundred square foot, two bedroom, two bath house became their home. Blond hardwood floors throughout added warmth and character as the floors were original and still had some of the natural knots and whorls in the boards. 

It was Sam that had found the house for them. A little bit of a fixer upper which Cas had worried about at first, then quickly saw the wisdom as Sam showed them the house and Dean immediately began planning what to fix, sand, paint and lacquer. Turning to Sam with wide eyes, the younger Winchester had only smiled a little and nodded. Dean needed something to do, something to focus on. His hands always needed to be busy.

For an older home it was interestingly designed. The master bedroom was rather large with a huge walk in closet. Many homes from the era did not have a walk in closet. The second bedroom was across the house and smaller than the master, but a respectable size. 

One draw for them both had been the spacious living room. It had a nook off to the right side, that Cas quickly claimed for his own. Dean hadn’t cared and declared the kitchen his domain. So those spaces, while common areas, were decorated more to their tastes of their claimant. 

Cas had taken to the nook with its built in bookcases, overly large window which let in afternoon light, and painted the room a soft yellow. It was just large enough for a desk, a small loveseat and a chair but instead of a chair Cas decided to put in a large beanbag that could be used as a chair, or smushed into a quick guest bed. 

He had a large rug in the room, honeycomb in shape that was slightly darker yellow than the walls, with dark brown and ivory accents. The loveseat was a dark brown which they accented with yellow throw pillows. Dean had actually found the beanbag - it had memory foam inside - and was a dark tan color.

With the kitchen, Dean had first gutted it and then redone it with all new materials. Cas hadn’t wanted to ask about where the money came from to redo it, but his mind kept whirling with worry and when he started to voice that question, Sam shot him a look he had rarely seen from the other man and then left the room.

Dean kept the blond wood floors and then completely did the opposite of what most people would have done with a slender, galley style kitchen. Luckily the kitchen had a large window on one wall and a full set of sliding glass doors at the end with the eat in area that led to their small patio. 

Choosing black cabinets, with frosted glass on the top cabinets, was a bold choice for a small kitchen. Dean chose to paint the walls a sort of ivory-tan color. It took Cas a full day after Dean was done painting to realize he had painted the kitchen the color of Baby’s interior. When the custom grey veined white marble countertops came in, Castiel realized that Dean was recreating the only home he had ever truly known in the kitchen. 

Dean was making a home for them, in the only way he knew how. He had been remarkably silent toward Cas as he remodeled the kitchen. So much so that Cas only engaged him when necessary. That last day, when Dean was done, all was installed, and the debris of the remodel wiped away, Cas knew it was time to show Dean he understood. 

His lover stood outside on the patio, bathed in the light of the sunset. Coming to stand behind him, Cas shifted to rest his chin on Dean’s shoulder as he slid an arm around his waist. He noted the other man stiffened briefly and then shuddered as he finally relaxed. 

“I like that you have brought your Baby into our home. Would you consider doing the main bathroom in her colors?”

“Our Baby.” Dean’s deep intake of breath was harsh and he let it out with a strangled laugh. “Black tiles, Cas? Really?”

Castiel chuckled and tightened his arms around Dean. “How about a mix of black and white and grey, varied sized tiles on the wall? And maybe tan colored rugs?”

At that Dean had turned in his arms, his smile open and eyes bright. “I already found rugs similar to the one in your nook. I thought, well, maybe, we could even put in some maroon towels.”

Cas kissed him softly. “Of course. “ He swallowed hard around the emotions in his throat. “For the spare room I was thinking something different. Beach-like maybe. Soft sand walls, teal sheets, a comforter with the shades of the ocean.”

“I like it, Cas. You pick the paint and I’ll do that next week.”

Cas nuzzled his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. “We have a home now, Dean. You and me. A real home.”

Dean cradled his head and kissed his hair. “I can say I have lived a lot of places, but I’ve only had two homes in my life, Cas. The first was Baby. Always there, always fixable. And then you. Always you.”

Pulling Dean closer, Cas slid his arms over Dean’s back, embracing the constellations there, the ones that made a map for his way home. 

At that thought, Cas allowed himself a deep breath, leaned his head back against the wall and let himself sink into the quiet space he found after he and Dean made love. 

***  
Dean woke slowly, the languidness of his body was comfortable, inviting, and it took a few moments for his eyelids to flicker open. What he saw wasn’t a surprise. Actually, had there been a sight other than this one, he would have been moving toward any one of the five weapons within easy reach. Hunter habits were hard to break.

See, he knew Cas watched him. Kinda liked it even if he was embarrassed by it. What he couldn’t tell Cas, what he couldn’t bear to mention, was that it comforted him. After their years together, it was comforting, normal, grounding. So much of his life for so long had been uncertain, he actually craved the normalcy Cas brought to his life with his weird routines and his love of lists. And his staring. 

He allowed himself a small smile. “You don’t have to watch me sleep like you do a baby, Cas,” he teased. 

“My eyes are closed, Dean. I can’t be watching you if my eyes are closed.”

“But you were watching me.”

Cas’s lips quirked at the statement. “When don’t I, Dean?”

After this exchange Dean stretched lazily in bed, joints popping, reveling in the soreness of certain muscles of his body. He finally propped up on one elbow and smirked at his lover. He watched as Cas’s eyes slid down his body as the sheet shifted just low enough to reveal the top of his trimmed pubic hair. 

“Like what you see?”

Cas knew his eyes lit with mirth at the spark of younger Dean that just appeared though he tried to hide his smile. “Maybe. Perhaps I need a more thorough interview.”

Their eyes held, each filling with light and laughter. A few years ago they could have dived into round two but they were older now, content with it, and the teasing. Dean broke first and flopped back onto the bed with a lusty groan.

“Tell me there is food, Cas.”

“Mmm. Leftover meatloaf and potatoes won’t take long to heat. Or you can make eggs.”

Dean shifted on the bed. “You heat the leftovers while I take a quick shower?”

Cas stood up from the wall and leaned over the man in the bed, setting a soft kiss on his lips. “Deal.”

Groaning as the hot water slid over his body, Dean tried to work out a few kinks in his muscles from their morning love making. Though, with the way his body felt and the still present hum in his veins, they had done more than make love. It had taken him awhile to explain to Cas the ideas and idioms that humans had for sexual intercourse. Sex and fucking, Cas got. The idea of making love that was anything but sugar sweet and tender as portrayed in movies was hard for him to grasp. 

Through a long and pleasurable, but sometimes frustrating, education Dean had finally been able to teach Cas that making love was something intimate, but that did not mean it lacked the use of teeth and nails and could end with bruises. The first time Dean had been able to push Cas to that edge, to be close and intimate and still have him take Dean roughly, had ended with an epiphany for the angel. The look on Cas’s face after was one he had committed to memory and replayed often. 

Even now, Dean’s soapy hands ghosted over a tender spot on his hip and he looked down to see the first blossom of a large bruise from where Cas had gripped him. His joy had him shifting to rinse under the spray with a happy sense of accomplishment. Cas didn’t mark him this way often, had to be worked up for it to be marks other than those made by his mouth, and Dean relished when it happened because he knew it had been just as intense for the angel as it had been for him. Dean liked to be marked, even if no one knew it but him. 

After a quick towel dry, he slipped on some comfortable pajama pants that Cas had bought him last year. They were hideous in color, orange and purple plaid with some weird stripe of neon yellow, but honestly the most comfortable pair of lounge pants he owned. Time and again he reached for them when he needed a break, felt stressed, or wanted to melt into the couch. He often wondered if Cas has mojoed them somehow, but he didn’t actually want to know, so he chose not to ask. 

In the kitchen Cas was humming a bit and plating heated up meatloaf and mashed potatoes. He grinned when he saw that Cas had added extra gravy to help the heated leftovers have enough moisture to be edible. He also saw rolls that seemed lightly steamed and covered in butter on each plate. 

“Hello, Dean,” his lover greeted, the acknowledgement so common between them now that Dean would know something was wrong if Cas responded otherwise. 

Cas turned and set the plates on their round eat-in table. Though they were never formal, they often enjoyed sitting at the table and eating rather than planting in front of the tv. “I lightly broiled the leftover rolls and added a lot of butter. Hope they are ok.”

Dean could almost taste the gentle crispness from the broil that was only made better by the soft inner center that had been saturated with butter. Without a thought, he slid the paper napkin onto his lap. Growing up as he had, he knew about etiquette but never cared about it until Cas came along. The other man liked things neat, liked not having to try and get other than oil stains out of Dean’s clothes. He learned to appreciate giving into the small quirks of his lover. Knowing that over the years Cas had given in to many of Dean’s own quirks and issues. 

Ducking his head with a soft smile, Dean remembered fondly the first time they had tried to sleep in the same space, though at the time it had been anything close to enjoyable. On a hunt, two double beds, them in one and Sam in the other. Originally he had thought it awkward that Sam was with them but less than three hours later was glad for it.

In the night Dean had rolled over and felt something foreign and raised up, straddled the threat and was in the throws of choking it to death with Sam’s yelling and the tugging of two sets of hands finally bringing him back to reality enough to let go. 

Both Sam and Cas had crawled across the floor to lean against the wall. Cas was very pale with his hair in total disarray and hand fluttering up toward his throat. Sam looked winded and slightly wild. Dean watched as the two most important people in his life exchanged a poignant look.

Cas blinked at Dean and when he spoke his voice was more ragged than usual. “I think that I should sleep separate from you, Dean, but in the same room. Close is good I think, even starting on the same bed until one of us is really on the edge of sleep.”

Sam’s throat cleared with a little force. “And until then, I don’t think the two of you should have a room without me in it.”

Glancing between the two of them, Dean realized how outside his own headspace he had been. He was not happy with the idea of Sam needing to be in the room with them but he took a deep breath and nodded. “Ok.” He met Sam’s gaze and nodded solemnly. Then he looked as Cas and couldn’t help the crooked grin and the heat that flamed his face. “I never wanted to hurt you. What you need, I can do.”

“I know that, Dean. But you have been through a lot. Sam and I want to offer you comfortable and stable options. You have to be the one to speak up if your needs are not being met.”

So the three of them had worked out a plan of sorts. Dean found it embarrassing that his little brother was involved in the plan to help him sleep in the same bed with Cas but since it didn’t seem to faze the other two men, he tried to let it go as not weird. But it was still weird.

They started with Castiel sleeping on the floor between the brothers’ beds. Cas would start on the bed with Dean but sit up, not really allowing himself to lay down. Sometimes it was Dean that would signal he was falling asleep and sometimes it was Cas that would lean over and kiss his cheek before sliding onto the floor. 

The light in the bathroom was always turned on, door pulled almost shut. They all felt a little safer with the light to help bring them back to normalcy from whatever dreams or issues they might encounter. 

One night, a few months into the experiment, Dean had woken and slid down onto the floor with a sleeping Cas. He just woke up and didn’t feel right. The space between the two hotel beds was bigger than a twin mattress but not by much. That meant their bodies were forced up against each other. Cas didn’t seem to mind, only murmured and snuggled more into his pillow. At that Dean smiled and drifted off into sleep. 

In the morning, Dean woke feeling warm and content. He blinked awake and was surprised to find dark, soft hair almost in his mouth. His own mind froze followed by his body and he shifted just far enough away to look up. A grim faced Sam was sitting cross legged on the bed and watching them both, even as Cas slept on. 

Dean glanced down, at the way his arm was slung across Cas’s stomach, keeping the other man close. His lover looked relaxed and content. Dean hadn’t meant to slide down onto the floor with Cas and had no idea how many hours it had been. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered to Sam. 

“I know,” his brother responded lowly. “I’ve been awake about two hours now, watching.”

Dean bit his lip. “What time is it?”

“Six.”

He winced. Sam had always been an early riser but he guessed there was more to it than that today. “Did I do anything?”

Sam’s expression softened a little. “No, Dean. You have both been blissfully asleep, cuddled together with disgusting snuffle noises.”

At that he grinned broadly and sat up. “Sorry that my love life is better than yours, Sammy.”

“Whatever.”

Sam stood up and stretched. It was then that Dean realized he was in running clothes. “You think it’s ok to go running?”

“You’re awake now, Dean. And in over two hours your sleeping self hasn’t hurt him. I think we can go to the next step.”

And that was how Dean remembered being able to sleep in the same bed with Cas. Over the years nightmares have reared their ugly heads but luckily he never attacked Cas again. Sometimes he had to leave their bed and sleep on the couch and sometimes he woke Cas up to hold him. 

Cas’s voice brought him back to the present. “Do we have any plans for today, Dean?”

He swallowed a bite of meatloaf and shook his head. “Nope. We should hit the grocery today or tomorrow but other than that, nothing on the agenda.”

Cas smiled and ducked his head. “I need to throw in laundry for us both but can we have a movie day?”

“We haven’t done that in a while, have we?” Dean grinned back at Cas. “I like the idea. Whatcha got in mind?”

***  
Hours later Dean found himself draped across Cas’s thighs on the couch, full and sated from a dinner of frozen pizza. He was warm and drowsy, eyes at half mast as they began the first Star Trek reboot movie. Though he would never tell Cas, he often felt that his movie was a reflection of them and their communication issues early on in their relationship.

After their late breakfast they had tossed in laundry and then put in the first of the Daniel Craig Bond movies. Then they tossed the laundry in the dryer and watched the next movie. Before starting the third movie, they gathered the dried laundry and folded it while watching the movie, pausing to put it away. 

Then it was almost dinner time. They agreed on frozen pizza and Dean went to put it in the oven. Spending a bit of time apart, Cas went outside to check on his plants and their fledgling bee colony. Dean took the time to check his email and write out the grocery list as he glanced through the fridge and pantry. 

They ate dinner on the patio as the sun began to set, slices of pizza and cold beer rounding out a lazy day of doing nothing but being with each other. Almost constantly touching, not often speaking but easily in tune with each other. They didn’t often take days like this and Dean cherished each one. 

After dinner they had agreed on Star Trek and Cas sat down, feet up on the coffee table and Dean laid down to drape himself over Cas’s thighs. He tucked a throw pillow under his head and his upper body lay over Cas. This was actually a common position for them as a couple, Dean often preferring to sprawl out but not wanting Cas to move to the loveseat. 

On screen, as Kirk is racing across the ship to tell the Captain they are warping into an ambush, Dean feels Cas’s fingers began to move along his back. Before that touch, Dean had been relaxed, but now he practically sank into the feel of Cas and the couch beneath him. 

Dean is well aware that Cas has an obsession with looking at him, but also with touching him. He wanted to purr under the touch of those fingers but bit the inside of his cheek in order to remain still. Right now Cas’s fingers were sliding across the bare expanse of his back but Dean knew that if he remained still, if he waited enough, those fingers would find a pattern. 

Like many things in his post-hunter life, the pattern helps keep him grounded, Cas keeps him grounded. Dean is aware that Cas thinks that he is unaware of the stroking of the pattern, and Dean is ok with that. As long as Cas keeps doing it, Dean doesn’t want to do anything to stop it. If he were to draw attention to it, bring it up, he is sure Cas would stop. It’s not quite like the staring across the room when Dean is sleeping thing that has become so common that they both acknowledge that they need it. 

This pattern on his back, Cas really only traces it when one of them is really tired, on the verge of sleep but is too edgy to let go, or so loopy from lack of sleep they can’t think correctly. The one other time, infrequent but the most special, is when Cas is focused on something else and goes into his semi-trance like state that reminds Dean of when he was a full powered angel. Dean cherishes these weird trance like moments because it takes him back to their first meeting, to their origin. 

Dean remembered that first moment, so huge, in the warehouse when Castiel first revealed himself, his true nature. Though Dean did his usual bravado act, he had been scared shitless to his core. Cas was the most badass motherfucker he had ever come across in all his hunting years. And he has essentially been a hunter since he saved Sam from the fire. 

Ah, Dean shifted subtly as the fingers above him paused and then began their familiar pattern. Not sure exactly what the pattern was, not sure he wanted to know, Dean realized long ago it was important to Cas. That alone made it important to him. So he held his breath, he often held his breath, or kept his breathing shallow, to keep Cas from stopping.

Though Cas traced more than one pattern, Dean had begun to realize that one emerged more than the others. Almost like when someone traces words on your back and some are easier to understand, to decipher, than others. This was the most familiar pattern from Cas, the one he seemed to draw most often.

As Cas’s pale fingers ghosted over the freckles on his back, Dean found himself sliding deep into a languid state. He knew those fingers had been over the exact points many times before so maybe it was Dean that was now different. Perhaps they were both different now due to the movement of those fingers combined with their relationship. 

However, Dean was certain that if he pushed Cas away, the other man would find a way to lay hands upon his flesh in some way or another. Not that he would have pushed Cas away at any point in the recent future. In the beginning, yeah, he was dumb enough to push for more, yet now he was mature enough to realize the concept of wait and observe.

Now, in the settled years of their relationship, as he had begun to think of it, he began to look forward to Cas tracing his back. Sometimes he even craved it. At first that thought had driven him crazy until he realized that it was comforting to them both. Cas didn’t always know he was doing it and Dean didn’t always know he needed it. 

Dean knew he was a tattered soul. The mix of Campbell and Winchester blood combined with forty years in Hell had made him something unlike any other being out there. Sam would deny it, so would Cas, but Dean knew that he was different. Though it wasn’t something he could truly accept, it also wasn’t something he could push away. 

With the way he was raised, different was normal. So his being different was normal to him. Dean had tried to fit it once, had tried to want to be normal like the rest of the world, but it didn’t work for him. Apple pie life was not just overrated, it was fiction. Once he accepted that, being himself turned out to be easy enough, mostly. It took an angel to truly set him free. 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was slurred with the spell that Cas seemed to weave around him when he traced the freckles on his back. 

“Hmm. Yes, Dean?”

Dean registered that Cas’s voice was a little distant, hazy and focused on some point in the ether that Dean could never understand. It was in this state that Cas was at his most angelic. It took moments, but Dean decided to cross that thin barrier that was all that was left between them. 

“Cas, what do you see?”

“See where?”

“In my back. On my back.”

“Oh.” Cas’s voice was soft, breathy but his hand did not stop it’s tracing. “It’s a path. A simple little path.”

“A path to where?” Dean held his breath as he asked, not wanting to disturb the tenuous spiderweb between them.

“Where would you want the path to lead, Dean, were it your path?”

The breath escaped him briefly before he sucked in a deep breath. Cas seemed to be just as deep into his trance like state as usual. So he relaxed again into those slender fingers against his skin and sighed. 

Where would he want to go? Was there some place he had always wanted to be, to find, to explore? His mind whirled a bit even as those fingers continued their movements, sending goosebumps across his skin with their light tough. Dean gasped in response.

“Home,” he breathed. “The path should lead home.”

Cas leaned down to brush his lips against Dean’s temple. “Exactly why I trace the pattern, again and again. So I never forget the way home.”


End file.
